248 HUNTING THE HONEY-BEE 



reparable wrong. A good and thoughtful man has 

 such a tender feeling for trees and the rights of 

 other men that he will think twice before he cuts 

 even a sapling for his real need. I abhor those 

 murdering fellows who think no more of taking 

 the life of a tree a century or two old than they 

 would of killing a man. 



Nevertheless, I have good friends who are bee- 

 hunters, chief among them one ^ who knows 

 enough of Nature's secrets to make the reputation 

 of two or three naturalists. The successful issue 

 of a bee-hunt gives the toil a veritable sweetening, 

 but I think my friend is successful even when un- 

 successful, and that there is something sweeter to 

 him in the quest than in the finding of a well-filled 

 bee-tree. 



Our bee-himter chooses August and September 

 for his labor, or pastime, whichever it may be 

 called, and he can hardly find a pleasanter day 

 for it than one of those which August sometimes 

 brings us in its later weeks — days that give us a 

 foretaste of September's best, but are fuller of 

 blossoms than they will be, though there are not 

 enough flowers in the woods to keep the wild bees 

 busy there. The sky is of purest blue, and across 

 it a few clear-edged clouds, fleeces of silver and 

 pearl, slowly drift before a fresh northerly breeze, 

 and their swifter shadows drift across the ripening 

 ^ Joe Birkett. 



